


Socks with Benedict

by Cumberknit



Category: British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-16
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:53:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumberknit/pseuds/Cumberknit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Poulet broke up in 2004. This story is set in the time they were apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

April 2005

Needing a change, I had sought out and found work in London, and had been there for a year. I had had a boyfriend or two, but nothing serious; I think I was a novelty – “the American girl.” I liked to spend my Saturday mornings walking around Hampstead Heath, stopping where a view caught my eye and settling down with my knitting to enjoy the Englishness of it all. Things weren’t much different than when I lived in Philadelphia, but at least I had left home.

This one Saturday in April, I was strolling along in the early morning chill, thinking that perhaps I should have waited another week or two to resume my walks. I was about to head for home when I spotted a young man sitting on a bench, staring into space. His curly ginger hair caught my eye – it wasn’t the harsh red of an Irishman, but it gleamed in the sunlight. As I approached, I noticed that he was a tall drink of water, and as I got closer still, I saw that he was pale-skinned and handsome, in a long-faced way. Right up my alley. His elbows were on his knees and his chin on his hands, and I was able to admire his profile: high cheekbones, somewhat undefined eyebrows, a slightly upturned nose, and very full, pouting lips. I stopped at the bench, plastered a smile on my face to cover my nervousness, and said, “Mind if I share your bench?” I said this in my best “I am not a tourist” false London accent. I had found that, despite being an ex-pat rather than a tourist, speaking with my natural accent got me overcharged, sneered at, and/or ignored. I had created a “cover” accent in order to blend in, not to misrepresent myself.

He started, showing that he had been unaware of my presence until I had spoken. “Go right ahead, please,” he said in a lovely baritone. His accent seemed rather posh, though I was still terrible at placing the dozens of different accents I heard every day. I sat, reached in my bag, pulled out the socks I was knitting, and started in, not looking at him, but not looking at the socks either. “Excuse me for asking, but…I can’t tell what you’re knitting,” he said, slightly apologetically, as though I might be offended.

“Socks,” I told him. “I’m afraid I’m addicted to hand-knitted socks. They’re my secret weapon against the world.” He raised one eyebrow. “I might have a rotten day, someone might jump the line ahead of me in a shop, but I can think, “Oh, really, you horrid woman? Well I am wearing gorgeous, perfectly-fitting, handmade woolen socks, so there!”” He laughed. I glanced at him sideways. “That’s better. You looked so morose when I first saw you.”

His face fell. “I used to come here with my girlfriend. She broke up with me months ago, but I’ve been abroad and I hadn’t been back here until now. I love this place, but now it reminds me of her.”

“Well then,” I said. “I know the remedy for that.”

“Oh?” he answered, looking at me askance.  
“Make new, good memories, and reclaim your right to be happy here. You can start with the crazy sock lady who interrupted your solitude,” I smiled at him.

“Oh, dear, I’m afraid I’m being rude!” he said, suddenly becoming more animated. He held out his hand. “I’m Benedict. You can call me Ben.”

Holding the knitting in my left hand, I shifted to shake his outstretched hand with my right. “Katherine.” I returned. “I’m afraid I make everyone call me “Katherine.””

“Pleased to meet you, Katherine,” he said, holding on to my hand. “It’s a bit chilly out here, isn’t it? Fancy a coffee?”

“Sure,” I returned, while inwardly jumping up and down like a schoolgirl. “Hampstead High Street is lousy with coffee shops. Is there one you favor?” Taking back my hand, I gathered my knitting back into my bag and stood.

“Lady’s choice,” he said, standing and offering me his arm.

~~~~~  
As we entered the coffee shop, I saw my favorite barista was on duty. “Uh, oh,” I thought. “She’ll blow my cover.” But she just smiled, said hello, and asked me, “Your usual, then?”

“Please,” I said, hoping that at least that word alone wouldn’t give me away. Ben looked at me questioningly. “Medium skim latte with a shot of sugar-free vanilla flavor,” I answered quietly.

“Excuse me,” he said to the barista. “We’re ordering together.” She took his order for a large coffee with cream. As he turned away to find a table, she gave me a wink and a thumbs up. I smiled back, slightly embarrassed.

Settling into a booth in the back corner, he looked me in the eye and said, “So, where are you from? I can’t quite place your accent.” One corner of his mouth quirked up, and his eyes crinkled. Through no fault of the barista, my cover was blown.

I sighed, and I felt heat in my cheeks. “I do live here. I just hate getting treated like a tourist.”

“So…?”

“Philadelphia,” I said, dropping the accent, but making sure to pronounce all five syllables (if I wasn’t careful, there would only be four). “What’s wrong with my accent? Most people either don’t notice a problem or let me get away with it. Now I’m not sure which.”  
“No,” he said, “it’s not bad. I just caught a little Manchester, a little Welsh thrown in. I pay attention to accents,” he said, a little apologetically.

“Ah,” I returned. “That would be the influence of my coworkers then - Manchester, and Welsh.”

“”Coworkers?” What do you do?”

“I’m a hospital pharmacist at Royal Free. I specialize in pediatrics.”

“You work with sick children? That sounds very difficult. I love children, but I don’t think I could bear to work with sick children every day.” He looked at me very seriously, and I noticed a spot of brown in one of his pale blue eyes.

“That’s the great thing about kids, though,” I said quietly. “Mostly they get better. The ones that can’t get better…at least I can help make it a little less horrible.” This was getting too heavy. “But enough about me. What do you do, Ben?”

He looked down, seeming embarrassed. “With what you do, I’m afraid you’ll think I sound either frivolous or pretentious,” he said. He turned his eyes up toward me. “I’m an actor.”

I didn’t know how to respond: I didn’t recognize him. “Um…in theatre? Or television? Or films?”

“I haven’t done any films, yet. Theatre, small parts in TV…I played Stephen Hawking in a TV movie –“

“That was you?” I practically yelped. He smiled. “Wow, you were incredible! I saw that right after I moved here, while I was unpacking boxes. How did you do that? The walk, the smile…” I noticed he looked embarrassed again. “So what are you doing now?”

“Right now I’m at the Almeida, in Hedda Gabler,” he said, studying my face to see how that registered. I tried to look impressed, although I had never heard of the play. “I play Tesman. I just got back a few months ago from South Africa, filming To The Ends Of The Earth. “ I thought his face darkened briefly. “I was Edmund Talbot, the lead character.”

“I’ll certainly make sure to catch it when it comes out,” I said. He ducked his head again, looking shy.

“So,” he said, obviously keen to change the subject. “Are those socks you’re knitting for you?”

“No,” I said. “They’re meant to be a birthday gift for my brother, but I’m running out of time. If only he had smaller feet!”

“I wear an 11,” he grinned at me. “How’s that?”

“Oh,” I returned. “There are two special criteria people have to meet in order for me to knit for them.”

“Which are…?”

“Number one: the recipient must be worthy of knitwear, meaning that he or she will take proper care of the item, but not put it away in a drawer with other things that are too precious to wear.”

““I never had a doorknob as brassy as this, did I?”” he said, grinning. “I love Noises Off! It’s underrated, in my opinion.”

I laughed. “Definitely! I can’t believe it’s so obscure with such a famous cast.”

“So what’s the second hurdle for someone who craves your knitwear?”

“I have to like you enough to spend the time and effort.”

“Ah,” he said, and his eyes crinkled at the corners again as he smiled. “Perhaps you’ll let me work on that? I’d like to see you again.”

I looked across the table at him. “I’d like that,” I said.

“Hand me your mobile a second.” He held his hand out over the table. I looked at him quizzically. “It’s easier for me to enter my number in your phone myself than to dictate to you.”

“Oh.” I said. I dug in my bag for my phone, and handed it to him. He tapped away with both thumbs. Suddenly, his phone rang. “There,” he said. And now I have your number, Katherine…Rosenblatt?” He grinned crookedly at me over his phone. I sighed.

“I know. I have the most unwieldy, mismatched name, don’t I?” In answer, he handed me my phone, his mouth twitching with a supressed smile. I looked at the contact listing he had added. I suddenly was desperately trying not to explode with laughter. He snorted, obviously trying to hold it in as well. We both failed at the same time, bursting out loudly and startling the patrons at the next table. “Cumberbatch??” I howled. “My god, we should get married on the spot so I can hyphenate!” He collapsed on the seat in fresh peals of laughter. Tears ran down both our faces. “Benedict Cumberbatch? That has to be the most English name I’ve heard since “Bertram Wooster!””

“Stop!” he cried, gasping and holding on to the table edge like he was going to fly into the air if he let go. “I surrender!” He slowly got himself under control, and wiped tears from his face. He met my eyes directly. “I think this qualifies as a happy memory of Hampstead Heath.”

“Good,” I said, still giggling a little. I glanced back down at my phone and saw the time. “Shit!” I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry. I’m going to be late for my knitting class if I don’t leave right now and take a cab.”

His smile faltered. “Well, if you must…”

“You don’t understand – it’s my class. I’m the teacher!” I threw my phone in my bag and rose. “Thanks for the coffee. This was fun.”

“You wouldn’t…ah…possibly…erm…well, be free for dinner tonight? Would you? There’s no performance tonight.” he asked awkwardly.

“As a matter of fact, I am. I’ll ring you from the cab, all right?”

“Fantastic. Great.” He took my right hand in his, raised it to his lips, and, to my surprise, gently kissed the backs of my fingers. I felt his full lips with startling acuity. He raised his eyes to mine, still holding my hand. “I’m glad I met you today,” he said quietly.

“I am, too,” I almost whispered. He released my hand, and I turned reluctantly toward the door. The barista caught my eye and gave me a fist pump. I grinned, looked back over my shoulder to where Ben was watching me go, gave a silly little finger wave, and hurried out the door, hoping that no one in my knitting class would be too put out that I would be 15 minutes late.


	2. Chapter 2

Not having gone out on a date in months, I was frantically trying to make a last-minute decision on what to wear. I didn’t want to look too casual, or too tarty, or too uptight. I finally settled on an outfit I thought made me look sexy but sophisticated. I was meeting Ben at a restaurant only a few blocks away, as I had reminded myself to be cautious and not to let him know where I lived just yet. The early spring evening was cooling down, but a brisk walk and a lace shrug kept me warm enough. I arrived at the restaurant a few minutes after seven to find Benedict standing out front in a well-fitting black suit with a white shirt and a purple tie with a pattern I couldn’t make out in the dim light, hurriedly stamping out a cigarette as he caught sight of me. He looked sheepish.

“You look lovely,” he said, offering me his arm. “Um, please tell me that smoking isn’t a deal breaker? I should have asked before.” He reached across his face with his free hand, nervously scratching his temple.

“No,” I said, “though it should be. I’ve been trying to work up to quitting for ages now, and if I start spending time with another smoker, I doubt I ever will.” He frowned down at me. “No, really,” I insisted. “It’s fine. Besides, I could smell it on you before, when we walked to the coffee shop. I knew already.”

“Ah,” he said, holding the door for me and ushering me inside the restaurant. “You’re a detective.”

”Oh yes,” I laughed. “I’m a real Miss Marple!”

The restaurant was Italian, with white tablecloths and candles, lights low. Most tables held couples, glasses of wine. We were shown to a table for two in a corner of the room. “Nice place,” I said as he held my chair for me to sit. “I’ve never been here.”  
“It’s been ages since I’ve been here,” he said. “But the place never seems to change. Would you like to share a bottle of wine?”

“I’d only have one glass – are you up to finishing the rest of the bottle?” I asked with a laugh.

“Hmmm, perhaps that’s not the best idea.” He gave me a crooked smile and all thoughts of what I had meant to say next flew out of my head.

I struggled to concentrate on the menu brought by our attentive server. I wanted to avoid garlic and red sauce, in an attempt to remain both sweet-smelling and stain-free. Benedict closed his menu and considered me for a moment, while I tried to ignore him and concentrate on choosing my meal.

“You’re not…a vegetarian, are you?” he asked in a worried tone.

“No!” I said, perhaps too forcefully, for he looked a little taken aback. “I’m just trying to, well, um…” and I admitted my conundrum.

“We could both have garlic, you know,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at me playfully.  
I felt my face redden as I imagined kissing him. “Um, sure,” I bleated.

The rest of the dinner passed in a whirl, each of us regaling the other with stories in an attempt to get to know one another as fast as possible. Squinting across the table, I asked, “Are those…rats on your tie, Ben?” He admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that he was wearing his house tie from Harrow, which made the tie at least 10 years old. I asked him to tell me about South Africa, as I sensed there was a significant story there, but he put me off, promising to talk about it, “another time. That story isn’t very good first date material, I’m afraid.” I didn’t press, but instead seized upon the promise of seeing him again.

““Another time?” Does that mean you’d like to see me again?” I said jokingly, eyebrows twitching mock-suggestively over my coffee cup.

He looked surprised. “Of course I do. I hope you want to go out with me again.”

I smiled warmly at him. “Yes.”

“Excellent. Could I convince you to extend this date a little longer? Have you had a chance to ride on the London Eye?”

I admitted that I hadn’t, despite having been in London for a year.

“Well, we’d better hurry then – last boarding is at 8:45.” He signaled the waiter for the bill.

~~~~~

Nearing the top of the arc, Benedict and I stood looking out the window at the lights of London far below, holding hands. I was exquisitely aware of how close he was, the scent of him. I looked up at him.

“I’m usually a little bit afraid of heights,” I said. “But I’m okay, here, with you.”

He smiled and pulled me closer, kissing me tenderly, closed-mouthed. We ended each with an arm around the other, still facing the window. “Ben!” I whispered. “There are, like, 20 people here!”

“I know,” he said softly. “But I just had to kiss you.” He leaned in and kissed me again as before, without urgency, not striving for anything more. Just that small contact made my head spin. I was sure my cheeks were pink, and I worked to keep my breathing steady. I smiled at him.

“I liked that,” I murmured.

“Me, too,” he smiled back, his amazing eyes locked on mine.

We remained at the window, an arm around each other, in a companionable silence odd for two people who had just met, until the end of the ride.

“What now?” he asked, as we exited the Eye.

“Now, you see me safely to a taxi, since it’s getting late.”

“Promise to ring me so I know you’ve made it safely home?”

“I promise. One more thing…?” I made it sound as if I’d just remembered something.

“Ye-es?” he asked, looking at me askance.

“I wouldn’t mind a few more of those kisses, if you can spare them,” I smiled.

“As my lady wishes,” he returned, laughing.

~~~~~  
After I washed off my makeup and changed into sweats and a t-shirt, I debated whether to text Ben or call. I decided that texting seemed less desperate, despite my desire to hear his beautiful voice again already. Within two minutes, my phone chimed with a return text. I rang him back, as it seemed silly to text him permission to call. “Are you at home?” I asked.

“Just walked in,” he said. “I don’t want to keep you if you need to go to sleep. I just wanted to say “good night.””

“Oh, I usually stay up a bit later than this,” I said. “I have to get up at 6 during the week, but I’m a night person, so I usually stay up too late and make it up on my days off. On the weekends, I stay up late and sleep in late. Don’t stay up late on my account though.”

“I should get to bed at a reasonable hour, but I can chat a bit, if you’d like.”

“I would like. You haven’t told me yet what your next project is after Hedda Gabler.”

“I’m not committed to anything yet, which is a fancy way of saying I’m unemployed at the end of the run!’ he laughed. “People think acting is so glamorous, but a lot of us just manage to keep our rent paid with voice-overs and bit parts. Theatre is my first love, but it doesn’t pay a living wage. That said,” he took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “I have an audition on Monday that I’m pretty excited about.”

“An audition?” I asked excitedly. “What’s it for?”  
“It’s for a film, actually, about the University Challenge.”

“What? Sorry…”

He sighed. “I suppose you wouldn’t have seen it in America.” He explained the game show and told me, “The part I’m up for is the team captain, and he seems to be a pretty uptight little git. It should be fun. Enough about that though,” his voice dropped down low, dark liquid chocolate dripping into my ear. “Have you gotten changed for bed? What are you wearing?”

Oh ho, I thought. A little peck on the lips and he’s ready for phone sex? I decided to play dumb. “Oh, my usual super-sexy sweatpants and t-shirt, hand-knit socks because the floors are cold. There’s no one here to impress, really, unless one of the neighbors has a telescope.”

“Now there’s an idea,” he said.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing a telescope to get a look at me,” I teased. “I hope you won’t stay that far away.”

“Definitely not,” he returned. “In fact, do you have time to see me tomorrow? I don’t have a matineé.”

“I think I can fit you in,” I said, then realized how that sounded. “I mean, um…” His throaty chuckle of amusement tumbled out of the receiver, into my ear, and scrambled my brain.

“Fantastic,” he said. “Where and when?”

~~~~~  
Sunday I generally spent doing household chores, so fitting in an afternoon date with Ben made things a bit hectic. Having tidied up my flat, gone to a Zumba class, showered, and done two loads of laundry, I met Benedict at a café near Hampstead Heath for lunch.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked, after he greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and held my chair while I sat.

“I usually sleep like the dead,” he answered with a smile that made me suddenly feel warm all over, “but last night I had trouble falling asleep, thinking about you.”

“Oh! I’m… sorry?” I offered, not knowing how to answer him.

“Don’t be sorry, anything but sorry!” he said earnestly, leaning forward across the table and taking one of my hands in both his long-fingered ones. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of experience in this dating thing. Going to an all-boys’ school is crap for that, and I was with Olivia for so long, I think I’ve forgotten how to start.”

“Ben,” I looked into his hypnotizing eyes, placing my left hand atop his two as they clutched my right. “You’re doing just fine. There aren’t any rules. Just be yourself. That’s all I’m doing. Sometimes I think I was issued a male brain, because I’ve never seen the point of all the cruel games most women play. “

He relaxed, then brought my right hand to his lips. “Let’s start again. Did you sleep well, Katherine?” his eyes danced with repressed laughter.

“Yes, thank you, Benedict,” I said in my best haughty English accent. His laughter escaped through pressed lips. The rest of the lunchtime passed with acceptable food and delightful conversation about current events, his upcoming audition, and random stories from our pasts. He told me about some near-misses he’d had on his motorbike, and I refrained from sharing with him that the doctors I worked with called them “donor-cycles.”

“Do you have anything pressing this afternoon?” Benedict asked me, glancing at his watch, then running his fingers over his lips. It was hard not to simply be mesmerized by his hands.

“No,” I answered, trying to keep my voice from betraying my delight that he wanted to spend the whole afternoon with me. “I’m just cleaning the flat, doing a little shopping. Why?” I smiled at him expectantly.

“Well,” he took a breath in like he was steeling himself. “I thought, perhaps…we could go to a movie of no consequence, sit in the back row, and…” he floundered, looking embarrassed, a red flush creeping upwards from the collar of his white button-down shirt (how many of them did he own, anyway?) He looked down at the table.

“Snog like teenagers?” I finished for him, laughing. He looked up at me through his eyelashes, without lifting his head, grinning, looking like a naughty little boy. “Sure!” I said, pushing back my chair. “Let’s go.” He snapped his head up, incredulous.

“Really?”

“Come on, I’m calling your bluff. Let’s go!” I took his hand and pulled.

“Well, all right then,” he grinned, following me out of the café.

~~~~~

We had bought tickets for the matinee of ”Miss Congeniality 2” (“I don’t really like Sandra Bullock,” I had said. “Excellent,” he had replied. “You won’t mind not watching her then!”) and entered the theatre. I had stood inside the doorway, uncertain about where to sit. Had he been just joking? Was I actually going to have to watch this movie? Or was I really going to make out with this gorgeous man in the back row of a movie theatre, like a teenager with nowhere better to be alone? “Come on, then,” Benedict prompted, reaching his hand back to me. I had taken it, and he led me to the back row, gesturing for me to enter first. “In you go.” He had been grinning, almost laughing at me.

“You’re serious?” I had asked, laughing.

“Why not? You don’t actually want to…see this movie, do you?”

“Heavens, no!” I had retorted, and slid sideways down to the end of the row, against the wall.

Now the previews had started, and his arm was around my shoulders. My mind was racing too much to pay them much attention, but a preview for The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy caught my attention. “I love that book!” I whispered to Ben. “I only hope they haven’t mucked it up making a movie out of it.”

“We’ll have to go and see,” he said, giving my shoulders a squeeze.

The lights went all the way down, and the movie started. Benedict put his lips to my ear. “So,” he murmured, and all the blood in my body rushed down between my legs. His sexy rumble resolved itself into, “When was the last time you snogged a boy in a movie theatre?”

“Um,” I managed. He nuzzled my ear, and all coherent thought left me. He reached over with his free hand and turned my chin towards him, catching my lips with his. I responded, softening my lips against his full Cupid’s bow. I felt his hand move from my shoulder to my hair, entwining his fingers in my curls, pressing my face to his. I had one hand on his shoulder, the other I raised and caressed his cheek, tracing along one of those otherworldly cheekbones that gave his face an ethereal beauty. He made a soft sound, and my lips parted in a gasp. His tongue met mine, gently exploring. My body hummed, every nerve ending alive. He pulled back then, resting his forehead on mine. “Mmmm,” he purred. Then, “Damn armrest.” I leaned back a little and looked at him in the flickering light from the film.

“For God’s sake,” I said. “We’re adults. Come on, let’s go.“

“What?” he said, looking confused.

I leaned in and spoke softly in his ear. “I know we’ve only just met, but so far in life I’ve been a good judge of character. If you promise to be a good boy, and stop when I say so, we can snog on my couch instead. No pesky armrests. It’s only four blocks away.” I sat back and smiled at him.

He leaned over. “What are we waiting for?” he said, the resonant voice directly in my ear making me all wobbly in the knees again. We stood, holding hands, and hastily exited the theatre.

~~~~~

“You’re quiet,” he said around his cigarette. We were walking down the street hand in hand, about a block from the movie theatre. “Do you want to go back to the theatre?”  
“No,” I said slowly. “I’m just listening to the shouting match in my head, between my intuition and my common sense.” We stopped on the sidewalk and faced each other, pedestrians streaming smoothly around us. He stamped out his cigarette and took both my hands.

“Listen,” he said. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Let’s go back in. I still have the ticket stubs.” He let go of one of my hands and dug in his front pocket.

“No!” I insisted. “No, it’s fine. It’s all fine.” I stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He brought his hand out of his pocket and wrapped his arm around my waist, drawing me closer.

“Oi! Get a room!” someone remarked in passing. We laughed, parted, and continued down the street, holding hands.

~~~~~

“Here we are,” I said with a grand sweep of my arm. “Chéz Rosenblatt. Here’s the Grand Tour: you’re in the kitchen, there’s the living room, that alcove with my computer in it is my “office.” The door to the left is my hobby room, and my bedroom and the loo are down that hall to the right.”

“Nice,” he said. “I like what you’ve done with it. I have a studio – it’s sort of all one room. Not the loo!” he corrected. We were both awkward, then. I only hoped he found it as endearing in me as I did in him.

“So,” I said. “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, or tea?” “Me?” I thought. “Ice water, orange juice… I have some diet soda –“

“No, nothing, I’m fine,” he said. “Relax.” He turned to face me and looked into my eyes. He placed his hand under my jaw and stroked my cheek with his thumb. I struggled not to lean into him like a cat, though my eyes closed involuntarily in pleasure from the contact. “I’m not going to hurt you. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

“Mmmm, but what I want you to do and what I think we should do might be two different things,” I said quietly. It was taking all my willpower not to leap into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist. Damn, he was sexy, and that low, velvety voice was undoing my resolve to keep this light. I took a deep breath, trying to remain in control – I am not a teenager – but only managed to inhale his scent, making it all the harder to resist his draw. He was looking so kind, so concerned, so perfect that I wanted to simply surrender myself to him, cover him in kisses and tell him, “anything, take me, you can do anything.”

“I know what you mean,” he said, with that quirk of the lip I was rapidly coming to love. “But I think we both want to do this right. I want to get to know you before we…I mean, until we can…” He dropped his eyes, his face pink. My god, this gorgeous man was too embarrassed to say, “make love”! I decided to spare him.

“I know,” I said softly, stnding up on tiptoe to kiss him gently on the lips. “I agree.” He smiled gratefully.

“So, are you going to show me your couch-without-armrests?” He looked pointedly over his shoulder into the living room.

“Yes,” I laughed. “Let me just double-check it for stray knitting needles.” He started laughing at that, eyebrows high. “No, really,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting company, and sometimes I get sloppy. It wouldn’t do to have to take you to emergency for a puncture wound to the leg or something. I think that would ruin the mood.”

“Absolutely,” he grinned. “Thank you for being so safety-minded.” He followed me into the living room, a trip of perhaps four steps. “All clear?” I nodded, and we sat down next to each other on the couch.

“Do you want me to put on a bad film?” I gestured at the television. “Recreate the movie theatre ambience?”

“Heavens, no,” he protested, pulling me close. Cheek to cheek he added, “I’d rather not have the distraction.” His voice, deep and soft in my ear, scattered any coherent thought. He kissed just in front of my ear and continued in a line across my face until he came back to my lips. “Just kissing, right?” he breathed.

“Yes,” I gasped, not certain whether I was answering his question or just encouraging him to keep going.  
He groaned. “God, you sound so sexy. I want to hear you say “yes” a lot.” I sounded sexy? He sounded like sex incarnate.

“Ben,” I breathed, and he kissed me hard, parting my lips and almost grinding our teeth together. His tongue was aggressive, taking and tasting, and I returned the kiss just as passionately. His arms slipped around me, holding me close, and I clung to him like I was drowning, one hand in his beautiful ginger curls, the other on his chest. He felt good through the thin cloth of his shirt: firm and warm, and I could feel his heart beating under my hand. I wanted to fist the cloth and tear it off him, but I managed to hold my palm flat against him as we tasted each other.

He broke the kiss, continuing to play his lips over my face and lips. “God, Katherine, I – I didn’t mean to – I mean – I don’t want to frighten you. I didn’t realize we’d get so…”

“Shhhh. Stop apologizing and kiss me.” I drew his lips back to mine with my hand firm on the back of his head. He didn’t resist, but took my face in both his hands and kissed me again, still passionate but somehow more careful. I sighed into his mouth and melted into the kiss. “Mmmm,” I purred when we came up for air. “I like that.”

Benedict’s face was flushed, his gaze smoldering, his lips even fuller than usual and redder from our kissing. He looked, I thought, like the definition of “sexy.” What was I getting myself into? I could barely wait to find out. “Yes,” he rumbled. I could feel the vibration of his voice in his chest, where my hand still rested. “Very nice.” He drew me close again, but this time targeted my neck with his lips and tongue and teeth. I was briefly aware of the thought that I was glad I lived alone, because there was no way I was going to be able to keep quiet as the lovely feeling of his mouth on me drove me insane with lust. My gasps and moans seemed to excite Ben still further, and my resolve to keep things relatively chaste began to weaken. A tiny corner of my brain sent up a flare - Don’t fuck this up!

“Ben! Wait!” I managed, partly hating myself for stopping him. “It’s…too much. I’m getting too…” My face felt hot. “Turned on. If you keep going I’m afraid I’ll…want you to keep going. Not that I don’t, it’s just, well, oh god, I’m screwing this up, and –“ He silenced me with a gentle kiss.

“No, you’re not. It’s fine. You’re right. We need to slow down. It’s just hard ‘cause you’re so damn sexy. I love how you sound.” Before I could figure out how to respond to that, he claimed my mouth again, this time with banked heat. “Better?” he asked when our lips parted.

“In some ways yes, in some ways, no,” I answered with a laugh. “I think we have a lot to look forward to.”

“Yes, we certainly do,” he said, gathering me in for another kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

From then on, Ben and I spoke daily, and saw each other as much as time allowed, while not shortchanging our other friends and commitments. We texted each other randomly, when something happened that one of us wanted to share with the other. We went to the theatre, museums, out dancing. He asked to meet my Wednesday night knitting group, and afterwards stopped in on occasion to greet everyone, remembering everyone’s name. We always said good night on the phone, even if we had just parted. My early work mornings sometimes clashed with his late nights performing in Hedda Gabler, which had now moved to the Duke of York’s Theatre (I had seen it at least a half dozen times), but even then we spent most of every weekend together.

At a Saturday lunch in May, he casually asked after my plans for the next day. “Nothing, really,” answered. “Just working on some socks I’m knitting for my mother’s birthday, catching up on some reading, hopefully spending time with you. Do you have something in mind?”

“I’d like you to come meet my parents, have lunch at their flat,” he said. I barely missed choking on my tea.

“Meet your parents?” I repeated weakly. “Um, sure, yeah, I’d like that.” Oh crap! What was I going to talk about with his parents? “Really?”

“Why not? I’ve told them a lot about you, and they want to meet this lady who’s brought happiness back into my life. They say I was getting a little morose. They were right.” He looked concerned. “Are you all right?”

I realized I was holding my breath. He had spoken to his parents about me? They wanted to meet me because I’d lifted Benedict out of his funk from losing Olivia? This was sounding serious. “Uh, yeah, fine,” I managed to croak out. Ben looked at me quizzically. “I just didn’t realize you’d, well, told your folks about me.”

“Well, I do spend a lot of time with you. They ask me what I’m up to. That’s okay, isn’t it?” He looked a little lost, like he thought he might have done something wrong, but he didn’t know what. I found him unbearably appealing.

“Fine, fine, you just…caught me by surprise, that’s all.” My phone rang. “Sorry - it’s work. I have to answer it. Can’t they live without me for the day? Hello?” I answered, not concealing a small amount of annoyance, but actually a bit glad of an opportunity to change the subject. “Yes, Martin, what can I help you with? No artificial colors or flavors? Okay, here’s what you do. Call a volunteer. Hand them five pounds from petty cash. Send them ‘round to Tesco and pick up a can of Golden Syrup. How old is the patient? Three? Honey would do just as well. Mix the phenobarbital in a quantity sufficient to mask the flavor and dispense. Yes, Martin, that’s why they pay me the big bucks. Never mind. Ta.” I snapped the phone shut. “I’ll bet that idiot’s never seen Mary Poppins,” I groused.

“Mary Poppins?” Ben asked. I had lost him.

“Doesn’t everybody know that “a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down””?  
He rolled his eyes and groaned.

~~~~~

Meeting Benedict’s parents went well. They were open and friendly, asking lots of questions about my family and my career. They asked me to call them Wanda and Tim. Somehow, without seeming awkward, his mother managed to ask about my thoughts on having children. I found myself telling the three of them that I hoped to have children someday, but I was getting a little worried that I had put it off too long for my career. I realized I wasn’t sure that Ben knew my exact age, just that I was around the same age as he was. As I revealed that I was turning 33 in less than a month, I gauged Ben’s reaction out of the corner of my eye. I caught a tiny frown – did he think I was too old for him? And worse: did he think I’d misled him? I didn’t think that four years’ difference was an issue at our ages. Of course, if he wanted a lot of children, maybe it was. I felt at a distinct disadvantage, not knowing what he was thinking, nor his thoughts on children. It would have to wait until after we’d left, I knew. I allowed myself to be distracted by Wanda’s bringing out a photo album of Benedict as a child. He was an adorable youngster, with blond hair and an infectious grin, which I recognized as the same one he had today. Wanda and Tim made me laugh and Ben blush with stories of his childhood exploits. It seems that little Ben gave Wanda quite a workout chasing after him, always into something or pulling something apart. I felt that they genuinely liked me, and I hoped that the day’s revelations hadn’t put a damper on our growing relationship.

Ben was quiet in the cab on the way back to my apartment, looking out the window, but he held my hand all the way. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking or his mood. He came into the apartment though, and sat down as comfortably as usual, motioning for me to join him on the couch.

“So, Ben,” I started. “I think that went well. Do you?” If he had new doubts about dating me, I’d let him bring them up. I wasn’t going to supply him with suggestions.

“I do, I do,” he said, pulling me close. “They like you. I’m glad for that. I’d be worried if they didn’t. And you seem to like them – you told them quite a lot about yourself that I didn’t know yet.” Ah, there it was.

“And?” I asked lightly. “Are you commenting on the fact that I confided in them, or was it the content?”

“More how comfortably you spoke with them. But I didn’t realize that you’re older than I am. You look twenty-five.” I tried to read his face, looking for displeasure, but seeing only his teasing half-smile.

“I’m a cougar in disguise,” I said playfully, and kissed him. He kissed me back without hesitation. “I hope that’s not a problem,” I whispered in his ear.

“Not at all, darling,” I felt more than heard in my ear. “Not at all.”


	4. Chapter 4

We were back at Ben’s place after my birthday dinner at Black’s, the club to which he belonged. Since it was a fine June evening, we had walked back rather than taking a cab. Now we were snuggled on his couch, more wine in glasses on the side table, our shoes scattered on the floor. Benedict had started kissing me gently, and I had responded easily, becoming more aroused with each kiss and caress.

Benedict drew my left earlobe into his mouth, just next to one of the pearl earrings he had given me as my birthday gift, and bit down lightly. I moaned. “Is that all right, then?” he rumbled teasingly into my ear.

“Well,” I said as steadily as I could. “There is one small problem.”

“Oh?” he asked, sitting up so he could see my face. “What problem?”

“The other one’s getting jealous,” I teased.

“Ah, ha,” he gave me a slow sexy smile that looked like trouble. Lovely, lovely trouble. “And when I kiss your lips, what gets jealous?”

My cheeks heated up with the same rush of blood that I felt between my legs. “Um…I plead the Fifth?” I offered weakly.

“No, no, no,” he said, pulling me close again and kissing my neck. “You’re not in America, young lady. You must answer the question.” He punctuated each of the last the last four words with a kiss, a lick, a nibble. I was rapidly losing the power of coherent speech. I just could not think when he put his hands on me.

“All the rest of me,” I whispered.

The vehemence with which he kissed me then caught me off balance, and I was drowning in him, the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. He pressed me back into the couch, turning me so that I ended on my back, one foot on the floor, with Ben above me, and his weight pressing me into the cushions felt delicious. My blouse was untucked, his shirt half unbuttoned. We both were breathing hard, and if his face was a mirror of mine, looking rather startled.

“God, what you do to me.” His words came out in a rush, his eyes blue fire. In response, I reached up between us and undid the remainder of his buttons, then pushed his shirt down his arms as far as I could. He remained still above me, eyes on my face.

My gaze moved to his chest, and my hands played over him. He gasped slightly I grazed a nipple. “Nice,” I told him. “Just what I like.”

He moved then, quickly discarding the shirt and pressing down on top of me. My arms came around him to explore his back with light touches and caresses. “Katherine.” My name came out of him as a moan. “Sweet Katherine.” He kissed me passionately, plundering my mouth with his tongue. His hands were under my shirt, and where his fingers touched I felt exquisitely sensitive, as though I would feel his touch forever.

“Take it off,” I encouraged, breathing as though I had just run a mile. He didn’t need to hear any more. He tugged my blouse off, a little awkward since he was on top of me. He fumbled briefly with the clasp of my bra, frowning, until I took pity on him and undid it myself. His groan of appreciation filled me with desire.

“You have such beautiful breasts,” he said reverently, cupping one in each hand. He gently teased my nipples with his thumbs, then at my gasp of delight, he lowered his head to first one, then the other. He kissed and licked and sucked them until I thought I would come just from that. “I love how you sound,” he whispered when he came up for air. “I want to hear you come. I dream about it. Please, Katherine, let me make you come.”  
“Oh, god.” It was almost a sob. My body ached for him, to be wrapped around him skin to skin, to feel him inside me. I hadn’t planned to go that far with him yet, but at the moment I couldn’t for the life of me remember why.

He was still talking, cajoling, convincing, kissing and fondling me all the while. “I want to get naked with you, hold you against me, feel your skin on mine. We don’t have to have sex yet, but please, let me see you, feel you, taste you.” With these last words, his hand dropped down between my legs and rubbed me through my slacks.

“Yes,” I heard, and then realized that gasping answer had come from me. He slithered down until his knees hit the floor, then slid his arms under my back and legs, lifting me as he stood up. “I think the bed would be better for this, don’t you?” He asked, his voice full of heat. He carried me across the room and placed me on the bed, hands immediately going to my trouser button.

“I want you naked, now,” he practically growled, and again all I could manage to make my mouth utter was, “Yes.” I lifted my hips and he slid my slacks down, my panties along with them. I was completely naked to his hungry eyes; he still wore his trousers. I tried to sit up to reach for his belt, but he blocked my hands with a playful “tut-tut” noise and a mock-disapproving frown. “Lie back and relax,” he said as he removed his belt, his voice resonating with desire. He leaned over me, his weight on his left forearm, his right hand playing over my body. “I want to explore you, find out what you like.” He chuckled at my sharp intake of breath as his fingers brushed the hair between my legs. “I’m going to take my time. Is that all right?”

“God, yes,” I breathed. He kissed me deeply, then left my mouth to ravage my throat, while his right hand kept exploring me, maddeningly never quite touching the spot I most wanted him to touch. My hips arched involuntarily, and he laughed again in my ear.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he taunted. He settled lower so that he could devote his attention to my breasts again. “Mmmm,” he moaned. “I really like your breasts. Not that I don’t like the rest of you.” With that he moved still lower, kissing my stomach, and playing with the ring through my navel. “I didn’t know you had that, you naughty minx,” he teased. “Very sexy.” My hands were in his ginger curls and I could feel his breath between my legs, which I opened wider in encouragement. “I think I know what you want,” he smiled up at me. “I’m more than happy to oblige.” In one sudden motion, he scooped up my thighs with his forearms, opened them wide, and ran his tongue up my slit. I cried out, “Ben!” and grabbed the bed sheets with both hands. “I knew you’d be delicious,” he murmured, and settled himself down, my legs over his shoulders. He teased my clit with his tongue, attacking vigorously and then backing off to explore the rest of me, building the tension and then allowing me to recover, prolonging the ecstasy, obviously reading my responses and playing me like a violin. I was moaning and writhing on the bed, calling his name over and over. It was all I could do not to beg him to fuck me. Just when I thought I could take no more, he plunged two long fingers deep inside me, his tongue still furiously working my clit, and I came, gasping his name. I could feel myself pulsing around his fingers and knew he could feel my climax. It felt like it lasted for hours. At the end, I was limp.

Benedict gently withdrew his fingers and raised his head. He grinned up my body at me, and the lower half of his face was wet. “Now that,” he said, “was amazing. Do you always come like that?”

“I think with you, I will,” I managed. “Come up here, you naughty boy. You’re wearing far too many clothes.” His response was a wicked laugh, and he rubbed his face against my inner thigh, like a cat, ridding himself of most of the moisture and making me jerk with an aftershock of my orgasm. He knelt next to me.

“Oh, really?” he teased. “Whatever shall we do about it?”

“This,” I said firmly, and by the look on his face surprised him by suddenly lunging for his trouser button. In short order, his trousers and undershorts were at his knees. Not waiting for him to shift and remove them completely, I pushed back his foreskin and swallowed his cock in one smooth motion, causing him to cry out, “My god!” His hands found my hair, and he clutched, then relaxed slightly, realizing he might hurt me if he grabbed too hard. “Katherine, Katherine, let me lie down,” he moaned. I came up for air just long enough to let him flop backwards onto the bed and kick off his crumpled trousers, undershorts still inside. I pounced as soon as he lay back, kneeling between his spread thighs and again engulfing his rock hard cock in my mouth. I teased him, alternating hard and fast with gentle and slow, and his moans and gasps of encouragement were setting me on fire. I caressed his balls and felt his magnificent ass as I sucked him. I glanced up his body and saw his head thrown back, that sexy expanse of neck exposed to the ceiling, his hands fisted in the bed sheets. His hips were rocking in time with my faster pace, and I knew he would soon come. “Oh, god!” he called out, “Katherine! I’m about to – be careful, I’m –aah!” and with a growl he came, pulsing, shooting into my mouth. I rode it out, drank him down, and gave him a quick kiss at the tip of his cock just as he started to soften. When I looked up again, he was propped on his elbows, gazing at me with an expression that I could only interpret as wonder. “You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“What?” I asked with a half smile. “Fulfill one of my fantasies?”

He cocked one eyebrow at me. “I meant you didn’t have to swallow,” he answered. “I wouldn’t have been offended if you finished with your hand. Or spit it out.”

I figured out that, in his experience, girls didn’t like to swallow. “That’s all right,” I said, crawling up the length of his body and claiming his mouth with a kiss. “I like it. I guess I’m just nasty that way.”

He put his arms around me, kissing me, pulling me back down onto the bed. “That was incredible.” Suddenly a thought occurred to him. “Did you say you fantasized about doing that?”

“Yes,” I answered. We were nose to nose, eye to eye, breathing each other’s air. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I didn’t think girls actually liked…sucking cock.” He seemed embarrassed to say it, even though I’d just done it.

“I think some girls do, and some girls don’t,” I answered carefully. I didn’t want to sound like I was criticizing any of his prior partners. “But I think the ones who don’t are missing something.”

“Well, thank heavens I’ve found you,” he teased. Then his face grew more serious. “Katherine, will you please stay here tonight?” He continued hastily, making sure I didn’t interrupt him. “I’m not asking you to have sex before you’re ready. Just…stay with me. I want to hold you while we sleep. Wake up next to you in the morning. Please.” His eyes were open and honest, his expression pleading.

“I’d like that,” I said quietly. “Very much.”


	5. Chapter 5

Waking up beside Benedict early the next morning was like crossing from one dream into another. The sun shone in through sheer curtains, giving his face and chest a surreal glow. He looked like an angel – until I noticed the tenting of the sheet over his groin. Well, good morning! I snuck quietly out of the bed and into the loo, then returned as quickly as possible to lie beside him. I ghosted kisses over his face and throat, and he moaned but did not waken. I ran my fingers lightly over his chest, brushing through the sparse hair. I laid a kiss on his navel, and he groaned in his sleep again, rolling his hips. I looked back at his face but he still appeared to be asleep. I pulled the sheet slowly off his hips, lifting it carefully so as not to catch his erection. Moving the sheet completely off him, I sat back on my knees and took my chance to feast my eyes on his lovely body: his tousled ginger curls, his beautiful angular face in repose, his ridiculous eyebrows, totally out of control, his long neck, the sexiest I’d ever seen on a man. I took in his pale skin, his toned arms and chest, his graceful hands, half clenched as he slept, his stomach flat but not overly muscled, with the dip of his navel that I couldn’t resist kissing. My eyes traced the light line of hair leading down to his cock, which was fully erect and peeking out from its foreskin, looking like it was seeking something. His shapely legs went to the very end of the bed, his long, almost prehensile toes relaxed. I let my gaze travel slowly back up him, not touching him, and when my eyes arrived back at his face, his were open, watching me. “Oh!” I gasped. My hand flew to my mouth, as I was surprised and embarrassed to be caught ogling him.

“See anything you like?” His voice was deep, teasing, and that crooked half-smile and one eyebrow high told me he was very amused by my indulgence. “Because I do.” His near hand reached out for my arm and tugged me down to him. He kissed me, turning his body toward mine, and I felt his hard cock brush against me.

“I can truthfully say,” I replied between kisses, “that I didn’t see anything that I don’t like.” My hand ran down his back, eager to claim the delicious ass that had been hidden from my gaze. “You are beautiful.”

He paused, surprised, and pulled back just enough to look me in the face. “You really think so?”

“Of course I do!” I was baffled. “You are gorgeous like water is wet. Ben, you’re perfect. I think you’re perfect.”

“Katherine, I –“ instead of finishing whatever he had meant to say, he kissed me with such sudden passion that all thought of conversation was forgotten. When I could speak again, I found myself whispering in his ear, “I want you. Oh, Ben, I want you so much. Make love to me, please.” I heard his breath catch, then crush out almost in a sob. “God, yes. I mean, are you certain?” He looked in my eyes, serious. “Don’t doubt that I want you. I just want to be sure you’re ready.” I kissed him gently on the lips, lingering. “Yes,” I whispered against his lips. “Absolutely yes.”

With that, he appeared to cast aside all doubts, and his passion came crashing back upon me. His lips were on mine, his hands seemed to be everywhere, touching, caressing, teasing. His clever fingers found my clit and teased and played there until I thought I would go mad with need. I stroked his erection, now hard as iron, and I ran my thumb across the tip, slick with pre-come. We slid across each other, changing positions, trying continually to give more pleasure to each other. Suddenly his hand stopped mine, and the intensity of his darkened gaze made him look almost angry. “Please!” he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to climax yet. I want to come inside you.”

“God, yes!” I answered, and his hand was moving again, driving two fingers deep inside me to come out dripping wet, and using his slicked fingers to ravage my clit. I had been so close already, that between his words and his fingers I came, calling out, “Ben! Ben! Please! Yes! Ben!” As I collapsed, eyes closed, I felt his hand leave me and his weight shift. I heard a drawer open, and then the crinkle of a condom wrapper. I opened my eyes to see Benedict unrolling the condom onto his erection, his eyes on mine.

“Ready?” His voice was the sexiest sound I’d ever heard. In response, I sat up and pulled him back down on top of me, kissing him open-mouthed, one hand in his hair and the other guiding his cock to my opening. We both gasped as he slid smoothly inside me until our hips met. “My god, Katherine,” he groaned. “You feel so good.” He began to move his hips slowly and sinuously, and I matched his movements and his pace. I tilted my hips up and wrapped my legs around his waist. His thrusts came faster, harder. His eyes were locked on mine. “You are so very sexy,” he said kissing me as punctuation, a word between each thrust of his hips. “I don’t think I’ll last very long. I’ve been thinking about this since we met.”

I was not nearly as coherent. “God, Ben,” I panted. “That’s so good. I love your cock. Fuck me, please!”

At that, his thin control snapped. His hips slammed into me, driving his cock deeper, his pace doubled. He slid his arms back until he could get under my knees and lever my legs up and farther apart, his weight on his knees. He was looking down at where we met, his cock sliding in and out of me, appearing and then disappearing as he pounded himself into me. A steady stream of sounds came out of my mouth, gasps and moans and “God, Ben, yes!” My hands were braced against the headboard to keep his energetic thrusting from knocking my head into it. I threw my head back, eyes closing, feeling another climax building inside me.

“Are. You. Close?” he growled through clenched teeth in time with his thrusts.

I managed to open my eyes for the glorious sight of Benedict kneeling between my thighs, his hands pressing my knees almost to my chest, driving his cock into me again and again, sweat soaking the curls on his forehead. His eyes had darkened with passion and lust, pupils wide, and his cheeks were flushed. He was the sexist man I had ever laid eyes on, and he was about to come inside me. I took in all this in a flash, and it spilled me over the edge into orgasm. I clutched helplessly at his wrists where he held my legs, as that was the only part of him I could reach, and screamed his name. As he had been holding back only with effort, my bucking and writhing made him come almost instantly, and we shouted out our pleasure together. He collapsed on top of me, dropping my legs and taking his weight on his elbows. He kissed my cheeks, and I realized that tears were running down my face. I smiled, and he seemed to realize that my tears didn’t signify regret, because he didn’t ask me what was wrong. He carefully slid out of me with a grimace, and disposed of the condom, then returned to wrap me in his arms.

“I had meant for our first time to be more…tender,” he said quietly, brushing sweat-dampened hair from my forehead. “But you drive me crazy. When you talk dirty it makes me mad.” He smiled, and it was laced with an apology.

“We’ll get to tender,” I said, stroking his cheek. “But first I think we need to get some crazy out.”

A laugh bubbled up from his chest, and I felt it against mine as a delicious vibration. “That sounds about right,” he said, pulling my head onto his chest. We lay there in a pleasant haze and drifted back to sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

In the six weeks between our birthdays, we were practically inseparable when not at work. We spent every night together, sometimes at his apartment, but usually at mine. We had exchanged keys, and kept extra clothes and toiletries at each other’s places, as well as growing more and more careless about whose books and CDs were whose. We stocked each other’s fridges, smoked each other’s cigarettes, answered each other’s phones. For Ben’s 29th birthday, I took him out for sushi, then surprised him with a private car on the London Eye, complete with champagne. As we lifted into the sky, I gave him his birthday present: dark grey hand-knitted socks with intricate cables. He looked up from the open box with moist eyes. “You made this for me?” he asked.

“Of course I did,” I answered. “I’d rather knit for you than anyone else.”

He set the box aside and stood, taking me by the shoulders and looking me directly in the eyes. “I wish I could do something like that for you,” he said. “Katherine, I--, I’ve been trying to think of a romantic way to tell you,” he paused, swallowed. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I want to thank you for the best birthday I’ve ever had.” Before I could think of how to answer, he lowered his face to mine and kissed me, first tenderly and then with growing fire. We parted, breathless, and I swayed. He steadied me and studied me earnestly, looking to see how I had received his declaration.

I smiled, “I’m supposed to give you presents for your birthday, and here you go giving me the best present of all.” He smiled, relieved. “You don’t need to come up with some creative way to tell me, Ben. It’s what I want to hear more than anything else in the world. I love you right back.” I kissed him gently, and he kissed me back, with heat. “So, how long is this ride? I want to take you home and give you more presents.”

“Saucy wench,” he laughed, enfolding me in his arms and lifting me off my feet. “I think I’ll like those presents even more than the socks!”

~~~~~

“Shall I try on my new socks?” Ben gave me a mischievous grin. He was naked, holding the socks, one in each hand.

“Put them down and come here!” I threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the chest. He dropped the socks and lunged at me, laughing. I squeaked in mock fear and surprise. I squealed again as he slid his face up my body, stopping with his lips under my jaw and his weight on me, one knee on either side of my right leg. He grabbed my hands and pinned them above my head.  
“I have you now!” he joked, then turned serious suddenly and kissed me passionately, still holding my hands above my head. I moaned into his mouth, felling my body flush with desire. As he continued kissing my face and neck, he murmured, “Right where I want you.”

My breath quickened, and he responded by transferring both my wrists to his left hand and turning to lie on my right side. “You like that, don’t you?” he breathed in my ear. I nodded, unable to speak. If I opened my mouth, I didn’t know what would come out. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone. His right hand roamed over my body, stroking me, enflaming me. My hips rocked involuntarily, and he laughed low in my ear. “You’ll have to wait, my love. Trust me?” I managed to nod. “Relax. You’ve given to me all evening. Now I’m going to give to you.” With that, he kissed my lips again, open-mouthed, tongue exploring, taking my breath away. His free hand caressed my breasts, firm and then gentle, teasing my nipples until I was panting, arching. He stretched his neck down to kiss my breasts while still holding my hands over my head. His hand continued to move downward, excruciatingly slowly. My hips bucked, and he took his hand away. “Ah-ah,” he breathed in my face. “Naughty, naughty. I’m in charge here.”

“Yes,” I sighed.

He wrapped his right leg over mine and drew my legs apart. I could feel his hard cock hot against my side. “Good girl,” he purred, lips on my neck, as his hand brushed the curls between my legs. I gasped in pleasure at just that light contact. A whimper escaped me, and he laughed again, wicked and knowing. “What do you want?” he taunted.

“You,” I almost sobbed. “Touch me, please!”

“Are you wet?” he asked teasingly as a finger dipped lower, lower, brushing my clit, making me jump, then plunging suddenly deep inside me. I jerked and shouted his name as he calmly pulled his hand back, sucked his finger clean of my juices and rumbled, “Mmmm, yes.”

“God, Ben, please!” I pleaded, straining against his hands.

“Please what, Katherine? What do you want? Tell me.” Again his lips were at my ear, his body pressed full-length against mine.

“Please, anything, Ben! Let me come! Any way you want. Please, Ben!” I was drowning in my desire for him: his hands, his mouth, his cock.

My eyes were squeezed shut; I could feel his breath above me. “Open your eyes.” I did, and saw his gorgeous pale blue ones studying me, his face only inches from mine. “I want to watch your face when you come,” he said. “I want you to keep your eyes open.”

“Anything,” I said, and I felt his hand slide down my body again. This time he gently dipped inside me, then turned attention to my clit with his slippery fingers. I writhed with pleasure, gasping his name, and struggling to keep my eyes on his, when they so wanted to close. I bucked in his grasp, but he easily controlled my body and there was no chance I was getting away. My legs were spread wide, completely open to him, Ben still pinning my right leg with his. As I neared climax, I could hear his breathing quicken as well. He was studying my face like he would memorize it. “Ben, God, I –“ and I came, rolling waves of ecstasy under his fingers, my body heaving. I realized I could hear him, just repeating, “Yes, yes, yes!” When the orgasm finally ended, I collapsed back on the bed, and Ben kissed my eyelids.

“Very nice,” he said. Then I felt him shift and heard the crackle of plastic; when I opened my heavy eyelids, I saw him putting on a condom. I smiled.

“I hope you don’t mind being on top,” I said, reaching for him. “I think you wore me out.”

“I don’t mind in the slightest,” he returned gallantly, guiding his cock into me. I moaned my approval and wrapped my calves around his, pinning him down. He held his weight on his arms and gazed down at me, his eyes full of love. “I love making love to you.” He lowered his face for a smoldering kiss, slow but full of heat. “I’d rather be here than anywhere else in the world.”

As we made love, the socks sat abandoned on the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

That August was rather warm, and we spent much of our non-working time at my apartment, barely clothed, resulting in lots of very sweaty sex in random locations (the kitchen table got quite the workout). We both got clean bills of health from our doctors, I got on birth control, and we dispensed with condoms, adding to our tendency to attack one another without warning. Benedict was filming Starter for 10 in London, so he was with me every night.

Sunday brunch was generally a lazy affair, with many cups of coffee and the paper after lovemaking in the sunbeams streaming through my bedroom windows. Ben had blasted music while in the shower, as usual. Now, he seemed distracted, adding cream to his coffee twice and burning the toast.

“What’s the matter, love?” I asked.

He looked up from his coffee cup guiltily. “You can read me like a book, can’t you? I heard a song this morning which reminded me… I was just thinking about…well, do you remember, the day we met, at dinner? You asked me about South Africa, and I changed the subject?”

“Yes,” I prompted.

“I – I’ve never told anyone this before. One day I went scuba diving with a couple of others from the production…” he told me a long story involving a Radiohead tune, a flat tire at night, being carjacked, beaten, tied up, put in a car boot, and almost killed. My jaw hung open, my coffee cold and forgotten. “I learned that I will die alone,” he finished, his eyes on the table.

I stood, and went around the table to him, enfolding head in my arms and pulling him close. “You’re not alone now, Ben,” I whispered into his hair. “You’re not alone now,” and I held him as he wept on my chest.

~~~~~  
One night, lying in bed, the covers a muddled heap on the floor, Benedict whispered in my ear. “You know, I have to tell my landlord next month whether I’m staying another year. My lease is coming up November first.”

“Hmmm?” I was halfway asleep, worn out after a long day at work and basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking.

“I barely spend any time there anymore. I was wondering, if you want, I could move in here with you. Or we could find another flat together.” His right leg and arm were thrown over me, his hand tracing an abstract pattern in the sweat drying on my stomach.

My eyes flew open as I came to full alertness. “You want to move in together?”

He leaned up on his elbow so he could see my face. “I think we already have, mostly. Am I…am I moving too fast?” His face showed concern.

I was quick to reassure him. “No, no! You just surprised me – I wasn’t expecting – I was falling asleep.” I was trying for damage control. “I’d love to live with you. It’s just, well. It says we’re serious, doesn’t it?”

“I am serious about you, about us. But if you’re not ready, I’m not going to force the issue. It’s okay.” His face was carefully schooled, and he looked down at his hand, no longer moving but still on my hip. No matter how good an actor he was, I could tell he wastrying not to show me just how important my answer was to him. I felt that the wrong words could shatter him like glass.

“Benedict. Look at me.” He jerked his eyes up and I placed my hands on either side of his beautiful face. “I love you. I want to live with you. I’m thrilled you want to share a flat with me. You caught me half-asleep, is all. Okay?”

His smile spread slowly across his face and lit up his eyes, which crinkled at the outer corners. “Okay,” he said, “I was just so worried you’d say you wanted to keep your own space.” He ran his index finger over his lips in a nervous gesture I saw often.

“What space?” I laughed. “Your crap is already all over my apartment! Is there anything left at your place to carry over? At least with both of us paying the rent we can look for a larger place.”

He grinned. “I like the idea of flat-hunting with you.”

“Me, too,” I returned. “Now go to sleep! Some of us have to get up early tomorrow!”


	8. Chapter 8

It was a rainy Saturday in mid-September, and Benedict was supposed to have accompanied me to a knitting weekend in Wales. He would have gone sightseeing during the day, joining me in the evening for dinner and the amenities of a very nice bed and breakfast, with emphasis on the bed. Friday midmorning I received a text from him telling me that he needed to cancel, but to go ahead and have fun. Despite a return text asking him what was wrong, I got no reply. I left for the weekend before he returned from his day’s filming for Amazing Grace, curious but not concerned. I began to worry when he didn’t call or text all evening, and when he didn’t answer calls my anxiety kicked into high gear. Had he been fired from the film? Was a friend in trouble? Were his parents okay? I decided that it was too soon to possibly worry his parents or our friends for nothing by calling them. Maybe he was only helping out a friend, but why would he not answer his cell phone? Why not tell me what he was doing? I tried to keep my thoughts calm and the tenor of my messages neutral – I didn’t want to be seen as nagging or controlling, though that had never been an issue so far. We trusted each other and gave each other space. We had our own friends as well as our mutual ones. He had never just disappeared like this though.

I left him a series of messages over the course of the evening:

8 pm: “Benedict? I’m getting worried that you aren’t answering your calls. Please text me at least so I know you’re all right. I love you.”

10 pm: “Ben? Please tell me you just forgot to charge your phone. Text or ring me as soon as you get this. I love you.”

11 pm: “Ben, I just called to say good night. I haven’t missed saying good night to you, well, since the day we met. Sleep well. Sweet dreams. I love you.”

I awoke to no messages. I didn’t know if I should stay for my class the next day. I knew I’d be distracted and unable to focus on the lessons. I didn’t even want to shop for yarn.

9 am: “Good morning, Ben. I hope you find your phone soon, as I assume it’s lost. After you wade through my 87 messages, please ring me. I love you. I miss you already.”

At 10 am I phoned Ben’s parents, and explained that I was away for the weekend and that Ben wasn’t answering his phone. They hadn’t heard from him or seen him, and agreed to give him a call. Ten minutes later, Wanda told me she got his voicemail too. “I’ll let you know when I hear from him, dear,” she reassured me. “I’m sure he’s okay and it’s just a problem with his phone.” I thanked her and tried to sound cheerful. Why did he only have the mobile and no land line again? Oh yes, he’d disconnected it because he was never home.

I decided that there was no point in my remaining at the class, and caught a train back to London. When I got home, I noted that the apartment looked tidier than usual, but found no note or other indication that Ben had been there. I tried his mobile again, in the hopes that he had left it here, and that was why he didn’t answer. My call went to voicemail again, and I heard nothing in the apartment.

“Ben, it’s me. I’m home – I couldn’t stay away when I’m so worried about you. Please call me as soon as you hear this. I love you.”

Thirty seconds later, my phone rang.

~~~~~  
An hour later, Benedict came through the door. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his face looked a bit puffy, like he’d been crying. He was carrying a canvas bag, and I could see knitting needles sticking out of the top. He dropped the bag, slumped into the couch, and put his face in his hands, elbows on knees. This was so far from the greeting I had expected that I just stood there staring, mouth open. Since he didn’t seem inclined to speak, I decided I had to. “Ben? What’s wrong? Did someone die?”

“No,” he said brokenly, and I realized he was crying. He looked up at me, tears streaking his face. “I’m so sorry.”

I was completely at sea. I glanced down into the bag and saw that it contained belongings I had left at Ben’s place over the past few months. “Ben, what is it? What’s this? What are you --?”

He started speaking in a rush. “Olivia called me, asked if we could try again….I’ve loved her for so long…I have to find out…find out if we can make it. I hate myself for hurting you like this. I never meant to hurt you.” Tears streamed down his face, and he cast his eyes down, completely miserable.

“Wait, what? You’re…are you saying you’re leaving me to go back to Olivia? I thought we…I thought we were in love. Building a life together. Moving in together. And just like that, one day to the next, you’ve changed you mind? I don’t get any say?” I would not cry I would not cry I would not cry.

“I didn’t realize – I never thought it could actually happen, Olivia wanting me back.” He refused to look at me. “She reminded me of what we’d had, and then I saw her, and…I love you, but…I still love her.” This last was in a whisper so low I almost didn’t hear.

“Benedict, I love you. The only thing I want more than to be with you is for you to be happy. Do what you need to do.” He looked up at me, surprised. I will not beg I will not beg I will not beg. “Just don’t expect me to wait for you to realize what you’ve thrown away.” As I turned away, desperate to escape to another room before I broke down weeping, I heard the click of his key on the side table. The last thing I heard before I slammed the bedroom door behind me was Benedict’s voice, full of tears, saying again, “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t hear the outer door close over the sound of my own weeping.

On Monday, I called out of work for a week (“there’s been a death” – yes, of my hope, my trust, my heart). I mostly stayed in bed (our bed) crying and sleeping. Somehow the mail came in and the trash went out, but I managed to do precious little else. I lost five pounds, and stopped smoking, as it was too reminiscent of him. The following Monday, I went back to work, locking my grief away behind a façade of efficiency and friendliness. I deflected all personal questions with professional ones, and my colleagues quickly picked up that Benedict was now a verboten subject. Wednesday night, when someone in my knitting group asked after him, I replied with a careful, “Please don’t ask me about him again.” It became as if he had never existed. At the end of that second week, I packed up all his things and sent them and his apartment key ro him by courier. Life, amazingly, went on. He never called. I did get one call from Wanda, about a month later, which I let go to voicemail. She only said, “I’m sorry, Katherine. We miss you. Be well.” When I finally went through the bag of my belongings that Benedict had brought back to me, I noticed that the socks I had knit him were not there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't flame me for Benedict's fictional hurtful behavior! It's a story!


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katherine looks back, six years later.

It had been easy to avoid Benedict’s work until Sherlock. After that, mentions popped up everywhere. Seeing the May 2010 article in The Telegraph about “broody” Ben made me bark with sardonic laughter while I wiped my toddler’s face for the fifth time that morning.

I was happy. A few months after Benedict left me for a second try with Olivia, Dr Andrew Wilde had braved my arms-length defenses by marching into my office and boldly asking me out. It seems I had missed his more subtle advances, and he had decided to take the bull by the horns in order to sort out whether he should keep trying. Andrew had joined the pediatric endocrinology staff at Royal Free about a month before my breakup with Ben, and despite the fact that I hadn’t taken much note of him, every other single woman (and some of the men) in the hospital had. Although I wasn’t much for gossip, I knew he was considered Royal Free’s most eligible bachelor. I decided to take him up on the offer, more for the distraction and to get out of my new apartment, since I tended to just go home in the evenings and sulk in front of crap television, as my friends couldn’t come try to cheer me up every night for months on end.

Surprisingly, I had a good time. Andrew was kind, intelligent, witty, and attractive. He let me set the pace of our relationship, and never pushed or complained. After eight months of dating, never having spent the night together, he proposed, getting down on one knee on a Thames river cruise. We married 6 months later, and Veronica was born a year after that (Andrew had suggested naming her “Olivia” but after my uncharacteristically vehement refusal, he didn’t bring it up again 2 years later when we had another daughter). We are a good couple, and I have never regretted marrying him for an instant. I’ve never knit him anything, despite some not-so-subtle hints that he’d like it if I did.

It was March 2011, and I opened the Daily Mail to read that Benedict and Olivia had split up. “Mommy, why are you crying?” Veronica was tugging on the hem of my blouse.

“Am I? I must be a little bit sad, darling. Give me a big hug, and I’ll feel better.” As I scooped up three-year-old Veronica, one-year-old Lucy started shouting from her high chair: “Me me me!” I managed to wrap an arm around her as well, back straining. I kissed their darling little faces and wept, although I wasn’t sure for which one of us I cried.


End file.
